


Learning Vulnerability

by Sweety_Mutant



Category: Black Sails
Genre: 3x06, 3x07, 3x08, Angst, Between Episodes, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Episode Related, Fighting, Flirting, Kinda, M/M, Slow Build, Spoiler Alert - Freeform, Spoilers, Swearing, There may be a little bit of OOC, Violence, black sails season 3, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6188572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweety_Mutant/pseuds/Sweety_Mutant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flint and Vane had been enemies, rivals, but now the circumstances had made them allies and they had to adapt and bring their plan to fruition: to have a drink, a conversation or more and save Nassau if they could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One bottle of rum

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the result of a Black Sails challenge between me and [Mad_Amethyst](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Amethyst)  
> ( You can see her fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/420028))  
> The rules are:  
> -Each chapter must have a dialogue line picked up from the site [writingexercises.co.uk](dialogue-generator.php), there are seven lines.  
> Mad_Amethyst and I had to use same lines of course, but in the order we chose.  
> \- Each chapter must be shorter than 1000 words.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own them, yeah, sure.

            Flint was alone in his cabin, pondering Vane's information after their talk. It was true, no doubts. His ally had no reason to lie to him, not after everything that had transpired on the island. The fight at the beach had been eventful to say the least, and Flint's back and shoulders were reminding him of Teach's strength every passing second. _Vulnerable huh._ He could feel the grains of sand in his wounds, a dull and disturbing ache. The gashes were not severe, he would heal without problems, yet the pain was unnerving and dealing with infected wounds was the last distraction he needed.

Flint got up from his chair. He would clean his wounds and then go to sleep. Put an end to a day that had already lasted too long.  The bottles of alcohol in his quarters were too precious for such a trivial use, so flint found himself heading to the hold in the middle of the night, trying to find a bottle of strong, foul-tasting rum.

Grabbing the first bottle he found, Flint tried to open it. He failed, tried again. This bottle was too well corked for the quality of its contents. Flint tried another one, to no avail. Was he too tired to have any strength left? He snorted. He was not his younger, former self, but not being able to open a bottle was bloody ridiculous. Maybe the fight against Teach had left him more drained than he had thought. The sun had been hot then, and hot-headed they had both been.

"It looks like you're in trouble there. Can I help?"

Flint turned around in a second. He had not heard Vane coming in the hold, closing silently the door behind him. Maybe he had been there all along, watching him. Right now, Vane was all smug smile and worse, he was standing between the very frustrated Flint and the door.

Not caring for Flint's reply if he had given one, Vane had stepped forward and took the bottle from Flint's hands. He put the neck in his mouth, and slowly enclosed the cork between his teeth, opening it with a quick jerk. As a result, drops of clear liquid were splattered on his chin and stubble.

Still smiling, he licked the alcohol off of his face and fingers and gave the bottle back to Flint. The later grumbled his thanks and made for the door.

"Yer in the mood to drink alone?"

“It was not for drinking in the first place."

Vane lifted an eyebrow.

"James Flint, in the middle of the night, alone and surrounded by rum bottles. Humour me."

Without answering, Flint simply opened his shirt and let it fall to the floor. It did not occur to him that he was baring his already wounded chest to his old enemy.

"You were offering help? Go ahead."

He handed Vane a clean white cloth. Vane looked at the cuts, the blood already dry. He got closer and Flint silently sat down on a barrel, exposing is back.

"You'll help me get drunk afterwards," grunted Vane as he took a mouthful of rum before drenching the cloth in it and applying it to Flint's back.  

When the other man’s hands touched him, it took Flint a few seconds to relax. Vane would not stab him in the back, not now, not with everything at stakes. Instead of killing him, Vane was messily if not thoroughly taking care of the wounds. He smelled strongly of alcohol, and Flint thought that he must have at least drowned a bottle on his own before. An unfamiliar status quo of not-quite-vulnerability stood between them.

When he finished with the wounds, about a quarter of the rum had been used for medical purposes while the rest had found its way down Vane’s throat.

Leaving Flint to put his clothes back on, Vane then opened two more bottles and gave one to him.

“Now, drink. I didn’t follow you to be a goddamn nurse.”

Flint, still sober, took a tentative gulp. He had not really wanted to get drunk that night, there were too many important things to do in the morning to be impaired by a hangover. The temptation was there, but he should not give in. He also did not give in to the temptation of asking Vane why he had followed him, why he had abandoned his father figure, his promises. Still, his interrogations must have shown in his eyes, because Vane mumbled.

“Am not drunk enough to answer that. God Teach gonna hate me now."

He got closer to Flint.

“We gonna take back Nassau right? Saved you this afternoon, now you owe me one…God he gonna hate me so much…”

More rum had found its way into Vane’s hand, and some was dripping on its chin. He leant forward, closer and closer to Flint, who tried his best to look at his own bottle. He did not know how to act around a drunk, _talkative_ Vane. He was tired, his own defences were down…  He drank.

            Flint looked at the empty bottles on the floor, at the now empty bottle in his hands. How many hours had passed? His eyelids were heavy, and the waves rocking the ship did not help. He got up and headed for the door. Vane was old enough to take care of himself.

Yet, as he had just opened the door, Flint heard a loud crashing noise. A few crewmen turned their head.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line for this chapter was "It looks like you're in trouble there. Can I help?"  
> I hope you liked it, stay tuned for more!


	2. Two make a team

 

            The morning found Vane and Flint in the latter's quarters. Flint's head hurt, but not too much. An ache that spoke of alcohol, but not of overwhelming hangover. It took him a few minutes and a whole jug of clear water, brought by a very judgemental Billy, to recollect the events of the night.

He remembered making a fool of himself in front of Vane, in the hold. Then he had... asked for help? No, Vane had been the one to offer it. Vane.

Vane, who after so sympathetically offering his help, had tried to coerce Flint into drinking. He had not really succeeded, ending up in a far worse state than Flint.

At least he had his fun, thought Flint. It was not honest of him to think that, as it had then been clear to him that Vane was quite shaken by the day’s events. It must have been the reason he had wanted so bad to get hammered.  And of course, when he was drunk with a reason, Vane was blue, talkative and _clingy_.

This was perhaps what Flint remembered the most clearly. When he had wanted to get back to his quarters, Vane had tried to follow him but, too drunk to walk properly, he had fallen on the floor. The noise had ruined Flint’s last chance of a discreet exit, especially as Vane had moaned something unintelligible while looking at Flint with dejected, hazy eyes. The crewmembers that had been present on the deck had found it very funny, and a few snickers had echoed into Flint’s ears, followed by more catcalls as he scooped up Vane bridal-style and carried him like a foul smelling potato sack, struggling to bring him back to his quarters. Why his quarters? He had not known then, it had seemed the most logical place. Drunk logic.

Later on, Flint had realized how much a bad idea it had been. Vane had clung on to him, even once on the cot, and Flint had spent the night with a dead weight on his chest and snoring noises in his ears. Luckily for him alcohol was a good sleeping aid.

Well. Eventful day, eventful night they say. Flint hoped that this morning would be better. To increase the odds of his morning being good, Flint chose not to wake Vane up for now. He left his quarters, got on with his business, leaving Vane to unconsciously spread his body on the cot, like a big lazy cat.

 

            Vane slept soundly through the morning, waking up with a splitting headache. He groaned, got out of bed, groaned again and left the captain's quarters to seek Flint. On his way to the forecastle, where he could see the ginger-haired silhouette, Vane got a few mocking looks from some crewmen, who recoiled behind ropes and parcels when he made eye contact. There were still shadows in his recollection of the night before, but something must have had happened.

“You embarrassed me this evening,” was the only answer he got from Flint. He arched an eyebrow, tilting his head and waiting for the other man to continue.

“You fell and I had to carry you. You’re heavy.”

“I fell? And you picked me up?”

Flint saw a mix of disbelief and the sudden remembering of a forgotten event on Vane’s face. He went on: “You kind of asked me to. It was more of a moan, but it made the whole of them laugh,” gesturing at the crew once his sentence finished.

“If it had been you, I would have laughed and left,” answered Vane with too much honesty in his voice.

Flint crossed his arms. The sea was clear, Billy was busy in the distance taking care of the important matters aboard the ship. He could take time to deal with the hungover moron facing him.

“Of course. Yet, you were the one who so gently offered to help me if I remember well.”

Vane snorted. “I was more dunk than I thought. Pestering you seemed a good idea then.”

Flint himself had no idea how Vane had gotten drunk so quickly at this hour, nor why he had considered pestering a good occupation, and told him so. It was time for honesty between them. They were team mates now.

“I had too much going in my head I guess. Do you have any cigars by chance?” Vane answered.

Flint nodded, and both headed to his quarters. They had a lot to talk about, some thinking to do, if they wanted to take back Nassau. They were team mates after all, and it was time to get to work.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line for this one was "You embarrassed me this evening."  
> I hope you liked the chapter, love ya!


	3. Three puffs of smoke

            “Do you have any idea what you’ll do once… if we win?”

Vane sucked on his second cigar, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke.

Flint took a few seconds to think about his answer, and those seconds were enough for Vane to snort, uncross his legs and blow another cloud.

“You’re going a little bit ahead of schedule, yes?” Flint finally answered.

This time, Vane laughed genuinely. It seemed to Flint that Vane was exaggerating his reactions, his emotions, to balance Flint’s lack of. Maybe it was because he did not show his emotions very often that the other man’s seemed so out of place. Vane was outgoing, whether it was in his violence, his mockery or his passions. His passions. Flint chastised himself inside. Now was not the time to think about passions.

There was gold to recover, a quest to finish. It’s was more a Jack Rackham thing to think about being the saviour, but Vane had been right. It was his role now. He would get as many allies as possible and save Nassau.

Lost too deep in his thoughts, Flint had not seen that Vane had put his feet on the table, the heels of his dirty boots digging into the chart. Happy with himself, Vane was now blowing smoke rings.

“For the sake of our compact, can you remove your feet from my chart?”

Vane grumbled but complied, and got up. Their thinking had not taken them very far. It seemed that they missed Silver’s wits, Rackham’s apparent buffoonery… Even Billy or Anne would have made a comment, too rash, or too careful… Anything to create movement.

_If only they had the fleet…_

“We already discussed that,” said Vane.

Flint looked at him, surprised, only then realising that he had said his thought aloud. It seemed to Flint that he wanted to add something, but what Vane then said took him aback.

“You make me feel like I’m not good enough.”

Flint did not know what to think of that answer. It smelled like a trap, or was it a confession? Vane was intelligent. More so than he showed, much more that most people believed. What had he meant? With a gesture of his head, Flint asked him to go on.

“You wanted to know why I followed you, right? Well, here is the answer. It’s not for some old compact between us. Nor is it for Nassau and the worms dwelling there. You asked me.”

“Who are you…” Flint said again.

“You know how it rang? It rang like _you don’t exist_. I have no home to mourn, nothing, no loved ones, and fuck! I was proud of that! I did not want to be owned anymore, whether it was by a place or a person or… whatever. And what did I get? Jack has his fucking legacy obsession, Anne has Jack! They have a reason… You made me feel like I did not have any legitimacy. That I was not good enough to have a place here. I was rotting on Ocracoke, and it felt as right as wrong can. ” Vane was shouting now, not even realising it. His outburst was not really directed at Flint, but at the both of them, the empty space between them. Flint did not move, and did not dare to interrupt Vane.

“I followed you, Captain goddamn Flint, because you made me feel like I was not good enough, but at the same time offered me the possibility to be good enough for myself. We do not have the fleet. You are a dead man, and we do not have the gold. Whatever… We—”

He did not finish his sentence, as the quarter’s door was opened. Billy went in, saying:

“Are the both of you okay? We could hear shouts from the astern.”

“We’re quite okay Billy. Thanks,” Flint answered. He was a bit crossed at the bosun’s interruption. Of course, the crew must have been worried. After all, Vane and he had history together. Flint’s men not worried about him, for sure. _They were wondering if they would have to switch loyalties_ , whispered a cynic voice in his head.

Vane looked at Billy, his tell-tale energy having left him. The cigar was limp between his fingers, forgotten. Feeling he was not wanted anymore inside, Billy closed the door, saying softly:

“We have still a few hours of sailing before joining the Maroons Island. We’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

Neither Flint nor Vane acknowledged him, and after a few minutes of silence, Vane added as a conclusion, a sad afterthought:

“And you were wondering why I wanted to get drunk. Fuck I still do.”

“We’d better wait before getting drunk.”

“You want to wait for Silver, huh?” Vane was obviously only half-joking.

“I’d prefer to wait for us to have a plan before drinking. Trying to preserve my brain and not give in to temptation.”

“You’re a virtuous man James Flint.” Vane got closer to him. “I’m sure I’ll pick up many good English habits while sticking with you.” He was too close now, way too close not to blow his last puff of smoke into Flint’s face. “Gonna take a nap now. Wake me up when we’re there.”

Without taking his boots off, Vane climbed on Flint’s cot and turned his back to him. He would not sleep, Flint easily guessed. Vane had needed to put a final point to their conversation, before it got out of his comfort zone. He was not accustomed to talking, and it was then difficult to keep his tongue where it belonged.

Out of respect, Flint left his quarters, stepping into the late afternoon sun. He had not listened to Billy, so he had the perfect excuse to leave Vane alone. This man could be quite a mystery, and the more he talked, the more mysterious he was. Flint was not used to this Vane, but he would learn to.

 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sentence for this chapter was “You make me feel like I’m not good enough.”  
> I hope you liked it, have some cookies!


	4. Four Stolen Glances

            The next day, Flint spent the whole planning reunion face to face with Vane. Since the Maroons Island, he had not been able to keep his eyes off him. He had been looking since the Maroons Queen had uttered those fateful words.  _You came back with nothing but him._ Vane had defended himself well, impassive in front of too many people. Yet Flint was waiting for a sign, something. He had seen a different Vane those last three days, and such a direct attack… He was waiting for a snap, the blink of an eye. He wanted to see a glimpse of this different, vulnerable Vane. Yet, the presence of the ever watchful Madi and the too observant Silver seemed to have drawn the old Vane out again.

The Vane who confronted him. But the difference was here. At least. Their confrontation about the recruiting… this hatred burning on Vane’s tongue, it was not directed at him. Vane did not forgive easily, and the men in Nassau had earned his scorn.

Perfectly timed and brilliant, Billy’s intervention turned then Flint’s mind away from Vane and his issues with the men at Nassau. Deep inside, Flint was glad to leave the mission of the tavern to Silver. His bosun’s arguments had been logical, and Silver’s jest had been disturbing at least. The man needed some action.

They would reach the coast in a few hours, and the ship was a busy hive. Everyone was doing his job, a nice sight to see. Flint exchanged a few glances with Vane, who was busy here and there. He kept an eye on him until the sun set.

It was not dark enough to go ashore yet, and the crew slowed down the ship. It was important that they stayed out of sight. The tension was palpable, shared by each and every men. For a few minutes, Flint retreated to his quarters, giving in to a drink. Just a small one, enough to quench his nerves’ thirst. He heard the door open. Before he could turn around, he recognized the heavy, slow footsteps.

“The way you flirt is shameful.”

The glass fell out of his hand, and he must have looked ridiculous, spiting the alcohol on his vest. Vane got closer to him.

“You did not take your eyes off me all day. I could feel them,” he put a finger on the back of Flint’s neck. “Right here.”

Flint could not move, nor answer. What could he say? Vane took a glass from the table, filled it and emptied it in the same move.

“I… I wasn’t flirting.”

Vane snorted. “Course you weren’t!”

“I was waiting. I wanted to see how you’d react.”

Vane nodded slowly. The words of the Maroon Queen were surely still echoing somewhere in his mind.

“I know how to behave in public, _James_.” This was an answer enough. This was more than everything Flint had been waiting for today, where Vane was concerned. The tone was enough, and so was the name.

“You’re the one flirting now.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe we’re getting closer.”

It was entirely dark outside. From the corner of his eye, Flint could see the rowboats being lowered into the sea. Both he and Vane moved backwards. It was time. Before they opened the door to the deck, Flint said:

“Maybe I do not mind.”

They left the quarters, stepping into the night, disappearing from each other’s sight. Each one at his rightful spot, they were all getting ready to go ashore. Flint could feel the tension in Silver, an undercurrent of uncertainty. Yet Flint knew him. He knew that Silver had it in his guts, in his mind, to fulfil his role. Madi’s eyes were hard, sure of herself. She knew what to do once ashore. They were right to trust her. Just before the boats left, he caught a last glimpse of Vane, his hands on the oar, his mind already bent on the task ahead.

As the rowboats silently disappeared in the night, Flint allowed himself a few minutes to forget, concentrating his mind of the lights of Nassau and the soft noise of the sea.

His unexpected alliance with Vane had evolved in so much more in the course of so little time... He even wondered if their partnership could mean anything beyond the context of this war they were waging. He wondered if it had been there all along, taking other shapes, gestures and fights. Not since Thomas had he mused on such thoughts. It felt familiar to care, and even more familiar was the question, when would life take this reason to care away from him? Would it be his fault, or fate's? Would it be Charles's fault, or theirs?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sentence was “The way you flirt is shameful." I hope that you all like where the plot is going, and believe me I try to make it as realistic and... faithful to the characters as possible.   
> Kudos to you all!


	5. Five fine times

            The beginning of Flint’s day had not been good. There had been no men at the beach, no men but that damned Rogers… who had said things. A name that should have remained silent and buried. Flint was beyond pissed. He was cutting, lashing out on others when all he wanted was to be angry at himself, angry and sad.

With all his will, he buried that anger, that sadness, like he knew how to do. Concentrated it into a pit of fury, boiling patiently. Ready to spill on England. England and its closest best thing, Woodes Rogers.

Yet, if possible, the day got worse.

“Why the fuck did you hand over the chest?” His voice had come out harsh. He had been waiting to snap, and Vane’s fucked-up-last-minutes plans had seen it coming.

“Because had we held it, right now we’d be in a standoff with a superior force, time working against us, and no way to secure Jack’s release. This way, the governor has everything he needs and no reason to suspect anything is amiss, leaving him to proceed with his plan.” Again, Vane was right. It could work. It might just be their way out, the breach they needed.

“A plan you think that we can frustrate?”

“Jack and the cache are to be moved aboard a secret caravan to a ship waiting somewhere off the southern coast. If we can intercept that caravan, we can secure both the money to start our war and the partner to help us fight it.”

“Either we get Jack and the cache or we get nothing.”

Anne’s cold interruption had ended the conversation. Vane and Flint had exchanged a glance, before he gave his agreement. Vane’s eyes were confident. He had his plan, whatever it was, and was bent on recovering his lost… _partner_. Anne’s partner. Whoever’s. Flint did not really care.

If he was to be entirely honest, Flint pretended only not to care. He was alone, leaning against the railing. Rackham’s return… the cache’s return… A harsh blow delivered to Rogers. Oh God Vane’s tone when he had said _the partner_. He wondered if Rackham had seen the same Vane that he now saw. He wondered what Rackham had done then, how Vane had reacted. He tightened his fist unconsciously. He was glad for the sun in his face. That way, no one would ask why he kept his eyes closed. He must have been mistaken… Vane and Rackham were friends since a long time. He could not even pretend that there was some form of friendship between him and Vane. Not that he did not wish it to be the case. He did now. And of course, as he was thinking about Vane, the man showed up. He stopped beside him, and did not speak for a few seconds.

Flint looked at him, and Vane took it as a clue to open his mouth.

“We achieved a lot today.”

“I am not so sure.”

“Your meeting with the Governor didn’t go as planned.” Not a question but a statement. Not mocking, just a statement.

“Not at all indeed. He brought some subjects onto the table, some that I was not prepared to face. I wonder if…” Flint trailed off, not finishing his sentence. He did not know what to say, his head was not clear enough.

“Don’t worry. Tonight, we will know the route. Tomorrow, we’re gonna finish what’s we’ve started. From my point of view, it’s quite fine.”

“Are you kidding me? We're not ‘fine’!” Flint had not intended to shout. It had taken Vane aback. Was he looking… hurt?

“If you insist on being pessimistic, so be it,” grumbled Vane. He let go of the railing and turned away. “Was just trying to sound comforting.”

The last bit of his sentence had only been whispered, but Flint had heard it. Had Vane intended for him to hear? It would not do him good to think too much about that. Flint decided to stop sulking and get things moving. He shouted orders to Billy and DeGroot. The crew would hid the ship from view. Silver could take care of it. Plans were formed.

From their departing rowboats along with Billy, Anne, Vane and other men, Flint watched the _Walrus_ disappear behind the sky line, as dark as the night.  

 

            The trip to Miranda’s old home was silent, and too long for his liking. Sleeping in the familiar bed would be difficult tonight. He still heard Rogers’ voice, mouthing two fateful words. Echoing in his head. Echoing in the house.

Once they arrived, and Flint led everybody to the kitchen, then to their bed. It was haunting, being back, it was strange being alone. He did not know if he would be able to sleep. He walked into his old steps, recreating familiar patterns into the house, as silent as he could.

Time ticked by. He did not know how long it took his feet to bring him back to his bed, but when he slipped into the covers, he realised that he was not alone.

Fool! This person could have killed him… It could have been anyone… Yet it was Vane’s eyes watching him, gleaming in the dark.

“The fuck you’re doing here?”

“Don’t know. Billy’s snoring downstairs.”

Flint saw through the lie. He did not mind Vane’s presence. Since their clash… well, he was just surprised to see him.

“Today,” started Vane, “you said we.”

“I had not… realised. We… I said we. The both of us…”  Flint sounded like an idiot. He wanted to say that both of them were far from fine, but it did not sound right anymore.

"I could grow accustomed to this,” said Vane, yawning. “Us. Now sleep. _We._ Are. Fine."

“Fine… I suppose we are.”

Flint forced himself to fall asleep, to get away from his thoughts. Since when had he included himself in a pronoun, with a meaning behind it? They both slept soundly, in a haunted house.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the sentence for this chapter was: "Are you kidding me? We're not 'fine'!"  
> I hope you all liked it! :D  
> I've already written the last two chapters, becaus Episode XXVI was so inspiring... so I'll update the story soon :)


	6. Six unsaid thoughts

_You said we were fine… Charles you idiot!_ Flint’s face was closed, hard, and no one dared to talk to him on the way back to the _Walrus._

The day had evolved from perfect to awful in a few seconds. Flint’s victory had darkened, and it tasted sour and bitter. Things were on the move. Too many other things were moving… moving relentlessly in the secluded space of his mind. The trip back to the Walrus was taking ages. Flint, lost in his mind, relived every single mistake he had made that day. He imagined every tiny detail that he should have changed. Reality was fickle.

 

                “Where’s Vane?” Flint shouted. Why were they only two? There should have been three of them. It was wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

“The militia arrived before he could get away.” Of course. He only had to look away one second for the problems to arrive. “We had no choice but to run.”

“Fuck.” _Fuck you Charles._ “Take him and the cache back to the ship and get out of here.” Flint took his horse, and headed off to Nassau. Billy shouted, a cry Flint did not hear on purpose. He would find the militia before they reached Nassau. He would free Vane, and then… Then… _You said we would be fine…_

 

Flint shook his head. No. Too rash…

 

                “Where’s Vane?” Flint shouted. Why were they only two? There should have been three of them. It was wrong. So fucking wrong.

“The militia arrived before he could get away.” Of course. He should never have looked away. “We had no choice but to run.”

“Fuck.” Flint had to think about a solution. Quickly. “Take him and the cache back to the ship and get out of here.”  His horse’s reins were already in his hands.

“What?” Billy shouted. “You can’t stay behind.”

“I’ll go find Vane.” Flint’s voice was pure determination. “Once he’s here, we’ll find our way back to the camp.”

“Captain–”

“Charles Vane swinging over Nassau is a statement we cannot afford to be made.” _I could not bear to lose him now… This war I wanted so much… It’s here, inside this chest. This war, I may be the only one who can marshal it… but I can’t do it alone._ His bosun’s voice mingled with his own.

 

 Voices adrift. Maybe, events had to be changed before.

 

                The fight was raging all around him. Shots, swords. The carriage was on its side, and from the voices, Rackham was alive. All well and good then.

After securing the chest, Flint went back to the carriage. Vane and Anne were trying to free an injured Rackham. They had no time…

“We need to move, now.”

“Go!” Vane’s voice was urgent.

“Go?”

“Take the chest to the beach. We’ll be right behind you.”

“Right behind us?” No, this was not a good idea.

“Yeah.”

A single nod of the head. Trust. Those eyes… They were telling Flint “trust me”. Yet, as he stood transfixed, all he could think of was _I’m not leaving without you. We came here for one man, I don’t want to come back short of another._

Over the sound of his own thoughts, he did not hear Billy warn them of the militia. It was too late then.

 

Flint opened his eyes. Anne was looking at him warily, caressing Rackham’s hair. His eyes got lost again.

 

                After securing the chest, Flint went back to the carriage. Vane and Anne were trying to free an injured Rackham from his restraints.

“We need to move, now.”

“Go!” He did not like the urgency in Vane’s voice.

“Go?”

“Take the chest to the beach. We’ll be right behind you.”

“Right behind us?” No, he did not need reassurance. Yes he did.

“Yeah.”

Yes, Flint trusted Vane. He turned back, climbed on his horse, holding the chest with Billy. Yet, once in the relative cover of the woods, Flint stopped his horse. Right behind them.

He saw Vane jump out of the carriage, and a staggering Rackham followed soon. Vane took him under the arm to help him walk. Right behind them. In a few seconds.

The sound of hooves. Horses whined. Not theirs.

Anne and Rackham climbed on their horse. Right behind them.

From the corner of his eye Flint saw shapes moving. The militia. Shots. _No!_ He let go of the chest, charged. Vane was on the floor, unmoving. _Charles, I’m right here, I’ll help…_ His horse fell. _You._

 

Too late. He had always been too late. On the boat, Flint took his head in his hands. The day had begun so well…

 

                He had awoken surprisingly rested. Vane had an arm draped across him, and he awoke a few seconds after Flint.

Flint went to tend to the fire. Behind him, Vane went to the harpsichord. Funny.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

“Please, don’t touch that.”

Strangely enough, Vane complied. “All these things... Porcelain, books… all so goddamn fragile.” He picked a few things here and there, still talking. “I can understand a woman’s desire for domesticity, but a man’s? That I can’t understand.”

Last night, Vane had said… Accustomed to us. What did that “us” had meant then?

“I can’t understand how you cannot understand.” He got up. “You have no instincts toward earning yourself a life more comfortable?”

Their pasts were too different.

“I don’t. And had I that instinct, I would resist it with every inch of will I could muster. For that is the single most dangerous weapon they possess, the one they tempt. Give us your submission, and we will give you to comfort you need.” Vane got closer to him. His eyes were piercing Flint’s soul. Telling him something. “No I can think of no measure of comfort worth that price.”

The door did not open. Before Vane could turn away, Flint said:

_“You’re right. For some reason, I’m attracted to you,”_ Vane would have looked at him then. _“And that’s all the comfort I need.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sentence for this chapter was: "For some reason, I’m attracted to you."   
> I hope you liked it!  
> So... we're near the end my darlings! There will be something changing in chapter seven... I'll post it tomorrow :)


	7. Seven seconds to end a story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I promised a change, here it is! For the last chapter, I chose another character to focus on than our dear Flint.  
> *drums rolling*

          The pain. Vane could do with.

The damp, cold cell? Also.

The memory of Flint’s dusty house came back to his mind. There had been fire. People, and a bed.

Fuck. He had no right to miss this… domesticity as he had said. No right at all. Yet…

Vane had to admit that it felt good, to sleep somewhere dry, beside someone he knew he could trust. He knew, he felt, deep inside, that that night had been his last one next to Flint.

He could have said some things, done some things. He closed his eyes. He imagined the night, different. Another type of comfort, one he was very much accustomed with.  He imagined how each and every night could have been different. A few days ago, the contact of Flint’s back with his hand. He barely remembered… Their bond, forming itself. He had been drunk then. Vulnerable. Flint had been hurt.

So much more could have happened.

Suddenly, he heard soft footsteps breaking the silence of the cells. He only knew one person in hell who would…

Eleanor.

She entered, tall and silent and stunning. He hated her with all his might then. Unmoving, he would have ripped her to shreds.

Not even ten seconds, she stayed.

Not even ten seconds, and he remembered everything. She had betrayed him. Not so long ago, he had loved her, or so he had thought. And what had it brought him? A big ball of nothing. Plus some fucking trouble.

Too long after Eleanor’s departure, the memories haunted his mind. He felt a much hated pain creep into his heart. Vane knew what it was, and even if tomorrow morning only the gallows awaited him…

This was where relationships had brought him. This was the result of caring, of accepting somebody into his inner, sensitive and vulnerable self. He should have learnt. What a fool.

Had he been given the chance to see Flint one last time… For both of them, for the future, his last words would have been:

“Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?" He would have gestured to the both of them, and locked eyes with Flint. Then, Flint would have understood. The fucking end.

In his life, caring was as much forbidden as comfort.

And in the loneliness of his cell, Vane hoped that something, anything, would happen to prevent him from saying those words. God he wanted to stay alive. God he wanted Flint. Yet in the dark, both seemed out of reach.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is then. The end of the story... the sentence was "Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?" 
> 
> I sincerely hope you liked this fic until the end. I had a lot of fun writing it. And I broke my heart too. 
> 
> Oh and... there may be a sequel, if YOU want to. :) So, feel free to ask for it. I shall gladly comply. Because we all need more Flint/Vane. You have to understand that there was just no other way I could finish this with the sentences I had to use for the challenge and also episode 3x08... I'm sorry :'(


End file.
